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"IT'S JOEY!!!"
Welcome HACK BOILS AND GHOULS, for this TWENTY-NINETH TERRIFYING-ISSUE OF CREEPS CASTLE. I, your FEARLEADER, CREEPS, have a REVOLTING-ROUNDUP OF CHILLS for you all. Like this one, about a boy who returns home for the night, I call... One early-evening in June of 1930, a small boy pulled some radishes out of a garden in the country of southeast-Indiana. He loaded a basket up with the radishes, as he sung, Oh, Susannah! and a man came up behind him, beating him to death with a shovel. The man then buried the boy's body in the garden and walked onto the front porch of a farmhouse, grabbing a bottle of Ripple from on a table, taking a big swig from it. Later on that day, the man went into his front room of his farmhouse and dialed a number on his telephone. "Yes, Operator, please connect me to The Ruben Residence. Thank you. Les, hi it is your Brother, Martin. I am afraid your Son, Joey has run away during his visit with me this week!" the man said over the phone. A year later, Martin was smoking a cigar out, on his porch at dusk, when he noticed his garden moving. Martin drunkenly went into his farmhouse and heard the telephone ring in the living-room. He answered it saying, "hello?". "Can I come visit you again Uncle Martin? It's Joey!" a distorted-voice moaned and groaned over the phone and hung up. Uncle Martin gasped and hung up his phone. He latched his front door and sat in his living room chair, nervously smoking. Soon, Uncle Martin heard someone singing: Oh, Susannah! in a distorted-voice somewhere outside. He stood up, nervously pulling the shades down on his living room-windows, which were open. Uncle Martin went into his kitchen, grabbing a meat-cleaver, and returned to the front room. The singing was now at the side of the farmhouse, and as Uncle Martin stood silently next to one of the open-windows. The knob of the front door turned, the door creaked-open and in came some white colored smoke, along with the living dead zombie of Joey. The corpse had: rotted-out eye-sockets and its skin was dead-white and slowly peeling off. Joey's zombie came at his uncle in his dirt-covered-old-white-shirt and pants. His bare-feet, covered with maggots and worms crawling over his decayed-flesh. Uncle Martin screamed and gasped, jumping back at once. "IT'S JOEY!!!" the zombie moaned shouting in its distorted-voice, with more maggots and worms spewing out of his rotted-out mouth. Uncle Martin took a swift swing at his dead nephew, with his cleaver, plunging it directly into the zombie's head of matted-black-hair. Joey continued to approach his petryfied-uncle. Uncle Martin drunkenly grabbed a half-full bottle of Jim Beam Whiskey, and smashed it over Joey's rotted-head. The zombie of the boy grunted hoarsely, but reached out, gripping his uncle's throat. The zombie pulled out the meat cleaver from his decaying-head, driving it into Uncle Martin's chest, murdering him. Well, that boy got a little ripe eh, kiddies? I mean talk about a SLOPPY JOE Hee-Hee-Hee-Hee. As for Poor Uncle Martin, he found out that GETTING DOWN AND DIRTY WITH HIS NEPHEW, wasn't quite a CLEAVER THING TO DO AFTER ALL ha-ha-ha-ha.